











lJ V J 1 



• 






! LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. i\ 



« 



"PS"*** 






! *mL//.Z.s>±.2.$2. i 



f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! 



^/%^«§> < %>'^r'^'%>f&> < %. < ^ < ^<%> < *-<^'%- D) 



SCARRED. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, 

BY JAMES W. FOX, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



Robert J. Long, Printer,' 36 Bromfield St. 



SCABBED. 



A DRAMA, 



IN FOUR ACTS 



JAMES W. FOX 






f 



Boston : 
1877. 







Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, 

BY JAMES W. FOX, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



Robert J. Long, Printer, 36 Bromfield St. 



TMPS2-C09360 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 



SCARRED. 

VICTOR VEDOC. 
LAS ACHE. 

BARON GUSTAVE DE LA BRAC. 
GIRARD. 

MARQUIS D'OVILLE. 
M. DKBLOSSAC 
M. JOUVENOT. 
DOCTOR BONIFACE. 
MONTRICHARD. 
POTARD, ~\ 

PIERRE, I Cnmri»™s 

MICHEL, ^tHVANrb. 

JOCRrSSE, J 

MARIE. 

FANCHETTE. 

BARONNESS DE LA BRAC. 

GENDARMES, SERVANTS, &C. 



SCARRED. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — A Parlor richly furnished in Chateau D'Amont. 
— M. DeBlossac and 31 Jouvenot. — Seated. 

Jouvenot. So the Marquis D'Orville is to visit Paris? 

De Blossac. Yes, after an absence of twenty-three 
years; you never knew him? 

Jouvenot. No, but he was an old friend of ray 
father's. 

De Blossac. Yes, and an old friend of mine, and his 
friendship was something to be prized, for a better man 
never served king or country. He remained but a short 
time in Paris after that dreadful night. They were 
wrong, Jouvenot, — they were wrong. If your father 
could speak from the grave he too would say so ; he was 
a fiiend of the people; when the noblesse clamored 
against Turgot, he tried to couvince them that Turgot 
was right, that the abolition of the corvee was just. 

Jouvenot. I have heard my father say that the pop- 
ulace was deceived. 

De Blossac. Yes, the Marquis D'Orville had secret 
enemies, 'tis so with all good men. The rabble was 
told that he was the friend of Choiseul and D'Aiguillon, 



8 SCARRED. 

and combined with them against Turgot; that the 
scarcity of corn was caused by the new edict. 

Jouvenot And for that they threatened to destroy 
him ! 

Be Blossac. Threatened? men eager for blood never 
threaten ; the mob entered Chateau D'Orville to kill him, 
the Marquis could not be found, but the torch did its 
work, and when he returned from Versailles he found his 
home in ruins, the Marquise frantic with terror, and 
piteously bewailing the loss of her child. 

Jouvenot. Do you think the child was in the chateau 
when it was burned? 

Be Blossac. Yes, I've been of that mind, yet its sin- 
gular that no trace of its remains was found in the 
ruins. 

-Jouvenot. Many thought the child was stolen. 

Be Blossac. At first I thought the same, but as 
years rolled on, and nothing was ever heard of the in- 
fant, I became convinced that it was lost in the ruins 
of Chateau D'Orville. 

Jouvenot. M'lle Fanchette was not born in Paris? 

Be Blossac. No, in Brittany. She says its pleasant 
to be called a stranger here 

Jouvenot. Then she does not like Paris? 

Be Blossac. She shares her father's prejudices, un- 
doubtedly. This, Monsieur, has been told me ; I have 
never seen her. 

Jouvenot. How long has Baron de La Brae resided 
at Chateau de Amont? 

Be Blossac. About nine years. 

Jouvenot. I knew him years ago, when he lived on 
the other side of Paris, in Chateau cle Montford. 

Be Blossac. Then you recollect Marie? 

Jouvenot. You mean the child he adopted? 

De Blossac. Yes. 



SCARRED. 9 

Jouvenot. I knew her well, and also the unfortunate 
youth who was condemned to the galleys. 

De Blossac. 'Twas a sad case. 

Jouvenot. Yes, for he was a noble fellow. 

De Blossac. His parentage was never known. 

Jouvenot. For all that, Monsieur de Blossac, he had 
many friends. But where is Marie now? She loved 
that ill-fated youth. 

De Blossac. I have often asked that question my. 
self, but the Baron and his friends are very reticent. 
I have been told that Marie was in a nunnery. 

Jouvenot. Rumor has it that the Marquis D'Orville 
has willed all his property in Paris to the Baron. 

De Blossac. Yes, he's to possess all this wealth if 
he survives the Marquis, provided the child is not 
found ; you know the Baroness was Mademoiselle De 
Clairmont, half sister to the Marquis. 

Jouvenot. Yes. 

De Blossac. Ah ! Mousieur here she comes. 

[Enter Baroness and Fanchette. 

Baroness. Ah ! Monsieur De Blossac, this is Made- 
moiselle D'Orville, and you, Monsieur Jouvenot, permit 
me to introduce you to Mademoiselle. 

De Blossac. I assure you Mademoiselle, I am very 
happy to meet the daughter of the Marquis D'Orville. 

Fanchette. Thank yon, Monsieur. 

De Blossac. Your father and I were boys together 
and companions for many years. 

Fanchette. I presume Monsieur, my father will be 
pleased to meet you, for he loves his friends. 

De Blossac. And his visit to Paris will delight them 
all. 

Fanchette. He has told me that he had but few 
friends in Paris now, that most of them were dead. 



IO SCARRED. 

De Blossac. Yes — most of them lire dead. 

Jouvenot. The Marquis D'Orville would soon have 
new friends if lie lived ill Paris. 

De Blossac. New friends? yes, the Directory for ex- 
ample, Barras, who was his enemy twenty years ago, 
aud who now proclaims himself an honest Jacobin, 
would be the friend of Marquis D'Orville, the Royalist. 

Fanchette. Yes, Monsieur, and conclude his friend- 
ship by destroying him. 

Jouvenot. You do not like Paris, Mademoiselle? 

Baroness. No, Monsieur Jouvenot, I can answer that : 
the Baron and myself left her alone this afternoon, and 
when we returned, but a few minutes ago we found her 
railing against our fair city. Ha! ha! 

Fanchette. Not against Paris, but its people. 

Baroness. Ali our citizeus are not like him. 

De Blossac. Of whom do you speak, Madame? 

Baroness. Of one of our citizens who was rather in- 
soleut, Mademoiselle? 

Jouvenot. Insolent! and were you alone? 
[Enters Pierre. 

Fanchette. Yes, but Pierre saw him ; did you not, 
Pierre? 

Pierre. Yes, Mademoiselle, I saw him after he fired. 

De Blossac. After he fired? 

Baroness. Why Fanchette, this is more serious than 
I supposed. 

Jouvenot. Did he shoot any one? 

Fanchette. No, no. 

Pierre, Yes, Monsieur, he killed him on the spot. 

Baroness. Killed him ! 

Fanchette. Killed him before my eyes. Oh ! he was 
in a terrible passion. 

Baroness. Killed him! why Fanchette, whom? 

Pierre. His master. 



SCARRED. II 

Fanchette. No, his master killed him. 

Baroness. Pierre! [Exit Pierre. 

JoKvenot. The stupid fellow has gone. 

Baroness. Fanchette, I don't understand this. 

Fanchette. Well, when you left me this afternoon I 
went into the garden to read. While seated in the 
orangery eating cake, a man passing the chateau saw 
me. He stopped, and in a rude manner asked me for 
food. [Enters Pierre. 

Pierre. Oh! Mademoiselle, he looked tired and sick, 
he was not rude, he only said : " Will Mademoiselle 
give a hungry man a broken piece, I have travelled 
many miles since sunrise and without food." 

Baroness. Poor man ! 

Fanchette. Poor man? and do you pity such low- 
born persons? 

Baroness. 'Tis our duty to aid the poor. 

Be Blossac. And for our interest, particularly in 
these days. 

Baroness. And what did you say to him? 

Fanchette. I didn't look at him, and the rude fellow 
appeared offended ; ha, ha ! he stared at me for a mo- 
ment, shook his head, and passed on muttering to him- 
self. 

Baroness. But when did he fire? 

Fanchette. You have not heard all. 

Baroness. What else, Fanchette? 

Fanchette. Supposing I was rid of this creature, I 
again sat down to read, soon I heard a noise behind, I 
turned, and there I saw 

Baroness. What? 

Fanchette. A little dog. 

Baroness. How you frightened me ! 

Fanchette. I called him to me and fed him, the little 
fellow was very hungry ; while I held him in my arms 



12 SCARRED. 

the man returned trembling with anger, he called him 
from me with a voice almost choked with passion, 
when at his feet he shot him. 

Pierre. Then brandishing his pistol above his head, 
he exclaimed : " Woman, beware ! if there is a God he 
will punish you. My eye shall be upon you, beware of 
the man you denied the food you gave his dog." 

Baroness. Pierre ! 

Fanchette. That man was mad. 

Pierre. Not mad Mademoiselle, but angry. 

Fanchette. Angry ! 

Pierre. Yes, to find himself less worthy of Made- 
moiselle's charity than a dog. 

Fanchette. I have told you all, and I don't care to 
mention the subject again, it annoys me. 

De Blossac. Pierre, what became of him? 

Pierre. I don't know, Monsieur, the gendarmes are 
looking for him now. 

Baroness. Really his conduct was singular, but 
what made him destroy the portrait? 

Pierre. I don't know, Madame : after he fired he 
passed the chateau by the road, there Michel, Jocrisse 
and myself were uncasing the portraits. As he was pass- 
ing he stopped before the portrait of M. Foulon, in an 
instant he started back as if horrified by some awful 
spectre, and for a moment he stood like one mad, then 
uttering a terrible oath, he clutched an old pike that 
lay upon the ground, and drove it through the canvas. 

De Blossac. (to Baroness). Oh Madame! these 
deluded fanatics forget all but their wrongs. 

Baroness. Some kinsman of Madame De Farge I 
suppose; but come Fanchette, you promised to walk 
with me in the garden, Monsieur will you join us ! 

De Blossac. Certainly. 

Baroness. And Monsieur Jouvenot? 



SCARRED. 13 

Jouvenot. Madame, with pleasure. [Exeunt all. 

(Enter Pierre, Michel and Jocrisse carrying portraits.) 

Michel. Who was that wild man? 

Pierre. A citizen of the Republic to be sure. 

Michel. It didn't take him long to drive the pike 
through M. Foulon, ha, ha! [All laugh. 

Pierre. Have you examined the portrait to see what 
damage our fellow-country-man has done. 

Michel. Yes, after a careful postmortem examina- 
tion, I found that the pike entered the body about here, 
severing the horizontal lobe of the left lung and pene- 
trating seven inches into the gall. 

[Pierre and Michel laugh. 

Jocrisse. Look here Pierre, why do you and Michel 
laugh? M. Foulon was not the worst Frenchman that 
ever lived. 

Pierre Perhaps not, but he certainly was the worst 
Frenchman that ever was hung. 

Jocrisse. What crime did he commit? 

Pierre. What crime ! didn't he tell the starving 
people to eat grass? 

Jocrisse. Yes, but that is no hanging offence, if I 
offered you grass to eat would you hang me? 

Pierre. No, not if you lived on hay, but if you were 
a tradesman and told me to eat grass, when I begged 
for a loaf to feed a starving family, I'd take your bread 
and settle your account with hemp. M. Foulon 
hoarded up riches against the poor, he was a vile, 
heartless aristocrat. 

Jocrisse. He had a heart. 

Pierre. Well, if he had one, the devil placed it some- 
where in his body beyond the reach of pity. 

Michel (hands portrait to Jocrisse.) Handle Marat 
with care, or he'll have your head in a basket. 

Jocrisse. Oh no, out of hell there is no redemption. 



14 SCARRED. 

I'm not afraid of you if you are dead (he sp>its at por- 
trait) ! Take that, you bloody tiger ! 

Pierre. You wouldn't do that in the dark. 

Jocrisse. Yes I would. 

Pierre. Well I wouldn't unless I was up to my neck 
in holy water. 

[Exeunt Michel and Jocrisse carrying portraits. 

Pierre. Now, Baron Gustave de La Brae, the tyrant 
Louis XVI. and his royal friends hang upon your walls. 
You can deceive the Marquis D'Orvilie. he may think 
you were loyal to your king, 'tis all right, I understand 
you it saved your head during the terror. Oh, Baron 
de La Brae, like all meu in France, the revolution has 
taught you but two things, philosophy and hypocrisy. 

[Exit. 
[Enter Baron de La Brae. 

Baron. The Marquis D'Orvilie is here at last; oh 
was ever a man in such a predicament, curse my stu- 
pidity ; she should have been in the mad-house long ere 
this, but to-night she must go, 'twas my misfortune 
when she survived her mother. La Brae, La Brae, you 
have been a fool to have been afflicted so many years 
with the mad offspring of a mistress ! The promise I 
made her dead mother has caused all. I should have 
left her in the garret where I found her starving. 
Had Lasache assisted me in my schemes without the 
hope of seeing his child again I would have restored 
her to the old fool, but wheu he answered my purpose 
no longer, she became mad, then it was too late, he 
would have denounced me (looks at his watch). 'Tis 
nearly six, Boniface should be here soon. When from 

beneath this roof I shall rest easy, the Marquis 

(bell rings) — this must be Monsieur le Doctor. 

[Enters Servant. 

Servant. Doctor Boniface. 



SCARRED. 15 

Baron. Admit him. [Enter* Doctor. 

Doctor. Good evening, Monsieur, 'tis just six. 

Baron. Yes, Doctor, I thank you for your prompt- 
ness. 

Doctor. How is Mademoiselle Marie to-day? 

Baron. Not as quiet as usual: she was very calm 
yesterday, and this morning, but as evening approached 
she grew restless, and at times violent. She talks of 
an imprisoned lover, and of ten years ago. Poor child, 
it almost breaks my heart. 

Doctor. Have courage, Monsieur. 

Baron. And have you any hopes of her recovery? 

Doctor. Yes, Monsieur, of a speedy recovery. 

Baron. To-night she thinks she's to be married, 
and has prepared for the ceremony. 

Doctor. Will Monsieur accompany me to her room? 

Baron. Doctor, spare a heart-broken father such a 
sight. 

Doctor. I left the carriage below the garden, ac- 
cording to your directions. 

Baron. Her maids understand all, they will a-sist 
you. You are to pass through the corridor into the 
garden, and then through the orangery to the carriage. 
This affliction I can hardly bear, keep her quiet as p j>- 
sible and cvoid force; that would be terrible. Oh my 
poor child, my poor child ! 

Doctor. I anticipate no trouble, aud once under my 
charge her condition will improve. 

Baron. I hope so, at least, but 

Doctor. I shall drive her immediately to the hospi- 
tal, and shall expect to see you to-morrow Adieu. 
Monsieur. 

Baron. Adieu. Exit Doctor. 

Baron. Not a minute too soon, for here comes my — 
(Enter Marquis, De Blossac, Jouvenot, Baroness and 



l6 SCARRED. 

Fanchette) Marquis D' Orville, you are heartily wel- 
come. 

Marquis. Thanks, dear brother, I shall be an un- 
grateful Frenchman, if ever I forget your welcome to 
Chateau D'Amont. 

De Blossac. Though all Brittany should swear by 
your honor, one thing more your friends will exact in 
proof of your appreciation. 

Marquis. And pray what else? 

De Blossac A lengthy sojourn among your friends 
in Paris. 

Marquis. You shall have both. 

Baron. And before you return to Britany you may 
learn to love us and forget we are Parisians. Ha, ha! 

Marquis. I shall never forget that my dear sister 
has lived in Paris all these terrible years. 

Baroness. But the storm has passed, dear Marquis, 
there is a brighter future for France. 

Marquis (looking at portraits) . I see you revere the 
memory of your King. Louis, Louis, our murdered sire, 
may your soul rest in peace ! and Marie Antoinette, ill- 
fated queen, you did not long survive him. M. Foulon, 
my God ! (starts back) must your friends witness such 
sights ; look ! look ! 

Baron. What? (He takes down picture, grass is dis- 
covered sticking through the canvas. | 

Marquis. He was my friend, and who under this 
roof would insult his memory? 

Baron. The villain shall be punished. 

Baroness. 'Twas that mad creature who passed the 
chateau. 

Marquis. De Blossac, you know he was my friend? 

Baron. The gendarmes are after the fellow now. 

Marquis. I wish I had not seen that. 
[Enters Pierre, hands card to La Brae] 



SCARRED. 



/ 



Pierre. I found this ticket on the road, near the 
spot he fired. 

Baron (looks at ticket). (Aside.) Free again ! yes, 
'tis just ten years. Can he be seeking me, no, no. 
These things will drive me mad, yet I'm a fool, why 
should this annoy me. 

Marquis. De Blossac, that sight awakens the re- 
membrance of the terrible tragedy at Hotel de Ville. 
The foul miscreants, were they not satisfied with his 
blood, but must they execrate his memory ! 

Baron Rest assured if this man falls into the hands 
of the gendarmes he will be punished. 

Marquis. Who is he? 

Baron. An escaped convict. 

Baroness. A convict ! 

Fanchette. Look ! look ! the gendarmes are coming. 

Baroness. They have some one in custody. 

Fanchette. Oh ! 'tis he ! that terrrible man. 

Marquis. What man? 

Baroness. The man who destroyed the portrait. 

Marquis to La Brae. Tell them to drag him here, 
let me see the villain. 

Fanchette. No, no, father. 

Marquis. My child, he will not harm you, fear. not. 
(Enter gendarmes with Scarred.) 

Marquis. Is this the man? That face, that fece, 
where have I seen it, look ! 

Fanchette. Why father, how strange you look, 'twas 
he who passed the chateau. 

Marquis to Scarred. Fear not, young man, we will 
not harm you. 

Baron. Marquis D'Orville, this man is an escaped 
convict. 

Scarred. You lie ! 
[La Brae rushes at Scarred.'] 



iS SCARRED. 

Marquis. Hold ! But why, young man, did you im- 
jure this? (Shows portrait) . 

Scarred. Take that from my sight. 

Baron. You shall be punished, you villain. 

[Screams are heard from the garden.'] 

Marquis. Great Heavens ! what's that? 

Baron. (Aside.) Mon Dieu ! she has escaped. 
(Aloud) Gentlemen, 'tis nothing, nothing, only — 

Marquis. 'Twas a woman's* voice, (screams are again 
heard.) She's in distress, yes, the screams come from 
the garden, let us — 

Baron. Stay, my friends, 'tis nothing only one of 
our servants who is .sick and has been delirious for a 
number of days. 

Fanchette. Those screams startled me. 

Baron. I know this man. 

Marquis. Let him go; he does not look like a con- 
vict. Young man, what is your name and who are 
you? 

Baron (excited). No, no, we don't want to know his 
name. I know he is an escaped convict. 

Scarred. You lie, I am not an escaped convict. 
[Baron draws his svjord, is held by De Blossac]. 

Baron. You insolent ruffian ! 

De Blossac. Waste not your wrath upon such a 
fellow. 

Baron. Then if you have not escaped where is your 
ticket? 

Scarred. 'Tis here (looks for ticket), I had it. 

Marquis. Then you have been a convict ? 

Scarred (tries to go, is held by gendarmes). Let me 
go ; what right have you to detain me? 

Baron. Off with him. 
Violent screams are again heard] 

Jouvenot. See, see, 'tis a lady ! 



SCARRED. 19 

Marquis. Yes, and pursued by some wretch. 

Baron. Gentlemen — {exeunt all fait La Brae, Scarred 
and gendarmes). (Aside) Heavens! 'tis no use, I'm 
disgraced. 

Gendarme. Our prisoner must be secured, we must 

go- 

Baron. Place him below, I'll take charge of him. 

[Exeunt all. 
Enters Marie.] 

Marie. I have escaped from those cruel men. They 
laughed like demons when I fell upon the ground 
gasping for breath, then all grew dark, but the sound 
of hastening footsteps pierced my burning brain; 
uearer and nearer they came until I felt their bony fin- 
gers crawling around my neck preparing to strangle 
me, then I cried you shall not kill me, I am not mad, I 
am not mad. They did not pity me, the}- only mocked 
my piercing shrieks; then I struggled for life and 
broke from their grasp, I bounded over rocks and deep 
pits as if borne on the wings of air, ha, ha ha ! They 
could not cross that yawning gulf. I am free, a cap- 
tive no more. To-night I shall see my fair-haired boy, 
we'll fly to the mountains away from the haunts of 
cruel men and dwell forever among the birds and 
flowers. Those dark figures again! Go back! You 
shall not take me, I am not mad, go back ! They are 
preparing to spring upon me. (She screams, falls upon 
her knees, covers her face with mantle.) 
[Enters Scarred pursued by La Brae, Scarred with knife.] 

Scarred. Let me pass, I say. • 

Baron. Give up that poniard. 

[Scarred rushes to the door. 

Scarred. Stand aside and let me pass. 
[La Brae with sword knocks knife from Scarred' 's hand.] 

Marie (rising takes knife from floor). They would 
kill him too. 



20 SCARRED. 

[Enter D'Orville with gendarmes and the rest]. 

Baron. Shoot him on the spot or I'll cut him clown, 
he tried to murder me. 

Marie (rushes between with knife). You shall not 
kill him. 

Baron (to gendarmes). Take him away. Gentlemen, 
secure this crazy creature. 

Marie. No, no, you shall not take him. Help, 
help! 

Baron. Marie, give me that knife. 

Marie. If you come near me I'll kill you. (To 
Scarred) Fly, fly for your life. (Scarred escapes, gen- 
garmes try to follow him). No, no, you shall not take 
him. 

Marquis. Let him go. See to this lady, she will 
injure herself with that knife. She must be unarmed. 

Doctor. Leave this to me, gentlemen. ( To La Brae) 
Have you a poniard? (La Brae gives him a knife). 
Good ! Mademoiselle, he has escaped. What a pretty 
poniard you have, but look, I have one brighter, more 
beautiful than that. Take this one, Mademoiselle, ex- 
change with me. 

[Marie gives Boniface her poniard ; he keeps both. 

Marie. You have deceived me. (Screams and falls). 



ACT II. 

Scene. — Astronomers Observatory. — La Brae and 
Lasache. 

Lasache. Thank Heaven, thank Heaven, he is alive 
and free ! 

Baron. It pleases you. 

Lasache. Yes, yes ; it takes a load from off my soul. 

Baron. By the laws of France he was condemned 
to the galleys for robbery, and what had that to do 
with you? 

Lasache. Mich Gustave La Brae, too much; your 
sin and mine caused all. 

Baron. Can you say that? 

Lasache. Can you deny it? 

Baron. Yes. I would have you deny it too. 

Lasache. I have a memory and a conscience. 

Baron. So have I. 

Lasache. Then let your thoughts dive deep into 
your soul and bring to the surface the black records of 
the past. 

Baron. None would be written in blood. 

Lasache By fair comparison your sins are the 
greater. In a drunken brawl I killed Adolphius Fan- 
ueux. He called me a fool when I boasted of my wife's 
fidelity. You had debauched her; he knew it; I did 
not, else I woiild have killed Gustave La Brae. 

Baron. Go on. 

Lasache. None but you saw the fatal thrust, and 
you remained silent. Crazed with remorse at my ter- 
rible crime and soon forced to believe that the last 



22 SCARRED. 

words uttered by the man I had killed were true, I 
plunged into the vortex of sin. You know all. 

Baron. Yes ; and were I to speak you would go to 
the scaffold. 

Lasache. It may be so, but none could say I robbed 
from another a wife, a child — 

Baron. I understand you, but 'tis false. Your crazy 
wife took her child and followed me. 

Lasache. Don't talk lightly of her now. 

Baron. Then cease, and let us come to business. 

Lasache. Business? 

Baron. Yes, I have not troubled you for ten years. 

Lasache. No, no; I can do no business with you. 
Gustave La Brae, none with you. 

Baron. And for what reason? 

Lasache. I'm a God-fearing man now ; I would not 
answer your purpose. No, that flash! Leave me, 
La Brae, leave me. 

Baron. Not until you agree to — 

Lasache. What? 

Baron. Dispose of this man ; he is without a friend 
in the world. 

Lasache. (Opens window). Hear me. I call upon 
Heaven as a witness — may the next thunderbolt strike 
me dead, the moment I yield to this tempter. 

Baron. Then you refuse? 

Lasache. Leave me, leave me ! 

Baron. You know the consequences. 

Lasache. I care not for consequences Once I was 
your slave, obedient only when you threatened ; then 
we committed crimes enough ; we robbed the child of 
father, mother; then you promised to return my child 
to me, but she was dead. 

Baron. What is your answer? 



SCARRED. 23 

Lasache. I will not hear you. Let me turn my 
thoughts upon nature. 

Baron. Better upon the scaffold, and when I return 
you may have changed your mind. 

Laasche (looking out of window). The fleeting 
clouds have closed together and overcast the earth, 
from this black vault the cooling rain descends. (La- 
Brac catches Lasache by the arm). O, God! protect 
me from this man. 

Baron. Listen, you old fool, there is no God. You 
alone can save me now. 

Lasache. You start ! The night's aglow with lurid 
flames, dare you face another flash and say there is no 
God? 

Baron. At another time I'll prove there is no God 
for you or I to fear. 

Lasache. No, now, now, while the heavens frown 
and instruments of death are flying through the air. 

Baron. Cease man, cease, there's no hereafter, the 
philosophy of your country proves it, you must — 

Lasache. Philosophy of my country! Since the 
revolution every fool in France talks philosophy. 
Gustave La Brae, there is a God, and have a care for 
your soul. 

Baron. You shall trifle with me no longer, Lasache, 
you will see me again, and if you care for your head, 
beware of your next answer \_Exit.~\ 

Lasache. He's gone, thank Heaven. I could mount 
the scaffold without this terror. What, other footsteps ! 
[Enter gendarmes']. 

Baron (to Lasache). You have one more chance, 
this man is at large; place him where he'll never 
trouble me again and you are safe forever. Do you 
promise? 



24 SCARRED. 

Laasche. They shall know of your crimes. 

Baron. Ha, ha ! tell them now, they would laugh at 
you ; but there's no time to be lost. 

Lasaclie. No, never; I will go to the scaffold first. 

Baron {to gendarmes). You will have this man 
under — 

Lasaclie. Hold, La Brae, hold. 

Baron. Then do you promise? 

Lasaclie. Anything but that; no, no, I — yes. 

Baron. 'Tis well. Leave us. You will see me 
again. {Exit Lasaclie). {To gendarmes). As I was 
about to say you will have this man soon, as my good 
friend, Monsieur Lasache, tells me that a person an- 
swering his description passed this way. 

[Exeunt] 
[Enters Lasaclie, shuts the door]. 

Lasache. They have gone. What have I promised? 
How the wind howls {knocking at door). Has he 
returned? {Opens door). 
[Enter Scarred] . 

Scarred. Are you alone? 

Lasache. Yes, Monsieur. 

Scarred. To-night you must promise me the shelter 
of your roof. Ay, look at me. I'm not a man but 
some monster. Why do you too refuse me? You say 
you are alone, suppose I should — 

Lasache. I am the sole tenant of these gray walls. 
I iujure none; I fear none. I share with all my hum- 
ble lot in peace. It matters not to me who you are or 
what you are, if you are weary you can rest here ; if 
you are hungry there's a plate on my board for you now 
and whenever you cross my threshold. You look 
tired, Monsieur, be seated and have some wine. 

[They drink] 



SCARRED. 25 

Scarred. Sleep beneath your roof and eat your 
bread, very good. (Drinks) Let's see rest was made 
for the weary, and bread for the hungry. Old man, I 
would uot steal a wink beneath your roof nor a crumb 
from your table. (Drinks.) 

Lasache. My young friend. 

[He opens (mother bottle.'] 

Scarred. You're wrong, (drinks) this wine is old 
and so am I. It has been well corked aud so have I ; 
when it gets its freedom it doesn't know how to act. 
You observe, old man, that I am somewhat unruly. 

Lasache. You say you are old. 

Scarred. Yes, I have lived forever. 

Lasache. Where? 

Scarred. In misery. 

Lasache. Who was your father? 

Scarred. That last question I'll not answer. 

Lasache. Pcirdon me, my friend, but perhaps I know 
your father. 

Scarred. Perhaps you do, but upon that subject I'm 
profoundly ignorant. What's that? I hear a knocking. 

[Knocking] 

Lasache. 'Twas the wind. I hear the sound of 
wheels. (Knocking again.) [Exit Scarred] 

[Lasache unlocks door, enter Marie, Doctor Boniface, 
and Potard.] 

Doctor. Will Monsieur give us shelter until the 
storm passes. I am Doctor Boniface of Hospital 
Bicetre, I have a patient with me. We have driven so 
fast that our harness has given out and it must be 
mended. (Doctor whispers to Lasache.) 

Lasache. Monsieur, this beautiful woman mad? 

Doctor. Yes, Monsieur, mad. 

Marie. In the darkness aud the storm we have 



26 SCARRED. 

escaped. They cannot find us now. I am free, I am 
free, and so is Maurice. Tell me, Monsieur, did my 
Maurice pass this way? {To Lasache.) 

Doctor. Yes, Mademoiselle, he was here but a few 
moments ago. . 

Marie (to Lasache.) Did you tell him that I was 
coming, that I would meet him in my bridal robes, and 
when that solemn vow was made we'd fly to distant 
lands beyond the sea. Oh, where is he, where is he, 
Monsieur? 

Doctor. He will soon be here. 

Marie. You deceived me once, not you, not you. 
{To Lasache) Can you tell me when he will return? 

Potard. He's but a little way from here, Mademoi- 
selle. 

Marie. Then And him, find him, say that I am wait- 
ing for him here, that we must fly to-night. ( To La- 
sache) And you will go too, Monsieur, and help to find 
my Maurice; yes, yes, do not wait. Oh Maurice, 
Maurice. {She sinks into chair.) 

Lasache. Poor child! Here beauty reigns, and 
reason is dethroned. 

Doctor. Her condition is alarming ; this delay annoys 
me. Potard, remain here with Mademoiselle, the 
clouds are breaking; we must start as soon as the 
harness is repaired. 

Lasache. I will give you a light, Monsieur. 

Doctor. Thank you, thank you. 

Lasache. Come this way, Monsieur, I will show 
you down. {Exeunt Lasache with light and Boniface) 
{Stage darkens.) 

Potard. The storm is over, the moon is driving 
through the clouds. She is quiet, and they are below. 
I'll take a peep through this {looks through telescope at 



SCARRED. 27 

stars) I see him, I see him 

Marie. Maurice, Maurice, where arc you? come to 
me, I am here. (To Potard) Where is he? you said 
you saw him. 
. Potard. I saw him. 

Marie. Yes, my Maurice. 

Potard. Oh, yes; I spied him through this (point- 
ing to telescope) . 

Marie. Let me see him, let me see him ! 

Potard. He has gone now. 

Marie. Was he coming this way? Tell me true; 
you will not deceive me, will you? 

Potard. 1 will not deceive you; be seated, Made- 
moiselle, you are exhausted. When I see him again I 
will tell you. (He draws curtain down). 
[Marie sinks into chair.'] 

Marie. Oh, I am so tired, so weary waiting. 

Potard (aside). She thinks I wouldn't deceive her, 
ha, ha! Yes, I saw her Maurice in that big telescope, 
ha, ha ! If I were as crazy as she and wanted to see a 
fellow I would look and see him, for these mad crea- 
tures are always seeing what other people can't see. 
No, no, I would not deceive her, yet I am truly a liar 
by profession, and long experience has raised me high 
in that honorable calling ; early in life I exhibited all 
those traits that by cultivation make me a most suc- 
cessful and I might say, great liar. She sleeps. 
Now, I'll see if they are ready. Will Mademoiselle 
excuse the light? (very low voice). Yes, I knew you 
would, good manners become a Freuchman. 
[Exit with light. Stage darkens.} 

Marie (starts and examines objects about her). Where 
am I? all is dark. 

[She strikes chains with her foot, screams']. 



28 SCARRED. 

Take those chains away, their clanking shrieks will 
drive me mad. No, no, don't put me in chains, I am 
not mad; pity me, jailor, I am but a poor, defenseless 
woman, seeking for one I love; on my knees I beg for 
mere}', don't bind me to those cold stones. You do 
not speak; oh, tell me why lam here in this dungeon ! 
Silent yet ! Motionless as the dead ! (She approaches, 
puts her hand on telesocpe.) What! this is not a man, 
where am — a telescope! Yes, yes, I understand, they 
have left me here and are looking for Maurice. Oh ! 
will he never return? Maurice, Maurice, through the 
long, cheerless years I have waited, watched and 
prayed for your return, to see you as you last stood in 
the orangery when you said adieu. He saw him 
through this, I too may see him Yes, yes. {Looks 
through telescope) . 

[Back of scene rises disclosing garden of Chateau Be 
Montford ; the scene is seen through a gauze. Vision of 
a youth with hand extended as if bidding adieu to some 
one at a distance.] 

Yes, 'tis he, 'tis he, my Maurice ! Maurice, Maurice, 
look, look, I am here, come to me, come to me. Oh, 
Maurice, will you not come? Speak, speak Maurice, 
one word to heal this poor, bleeding heart. Oh, Mau- 
rice, do you not hear me. ( Youth moves from her) No, 
no, do not leave me here alone, I will die, Maurice, I 
will die; oh, must I plead in vain? He's gone! he's 
gone. (Scene vanishes, she rises and screams.) 
[Enter Lasache, Boniface and Potard with lights.] 

Marie. He has gone, he has gone, did you not see 
him? Look, look, I saw him there ! 

Boctor. Have patience, Mademoiselle, the horses 
are ready and we'll overtake him. 

Marie. Yes, Monsieur, hurry, hurry ! 



SCARRED. 29 

Doctor. We are ready. Monsieur Lasache, we 
thank you for your kindness ; adieu, adieu. 

Marie. Yes, we thank you, we thank you, Monsieur. 

Lasache. The roads below may be dangerous after 
the storm, to avoid danger keep your lights burning; 
Good night. 

[Exeunt all but Lasache] 
[Enter Scarred] 

Lasache. My young friend, why did you start? You 
are pursued — 

Scarred. By the gendarmes. 

Lasache. The gendarmes? 

Scarred. Yes. 

Lasache. What have you done? 

Scarred. I drove a pike through the body of a 
cursed Frenchman. 

Lasache. Unfortunate youth! did you quarrel? 

Scarred (drinks). Old man, I'll answer all your 
questions ; you are rather inquisitive but your wine is 
good. 

Lasache. I ask pardon. 

Scarred. To-day I asked for food near a chateau ou 
the hill, from a fair woman — remember it was a woman 
— she didn't strike me, that would have caused her 
some slight trouble, and I would have forgiven that. 
She didn't look at me, I could have forgiven that ; but 
when I saw her feeding my dog I could have killed her ; 
think of it, she denied me the food she gave a dog. 
Monsieur, I was condemned to the galleys when a mere 
boy, I have been in chains, shut up in a dungeon, 
starved, held to these cold stones by fetters, in filth, in 
tears, praying for death, raving like a maniac, and 
cursing the mother that bore me ; but all those wrongs 
were nothing compared with this terrible insult. In 



30 SCARRED. 

my wrath I slew that unoffending brute, through him 
she insulted all mankind. 

Lasache. You have been a convict? 

Scarred, Yes; but what is that to you? 

Lasache. Oh nothing, nothing; but you quarrelled 
with some one? 

Scarred. I quarrelled with no one. I said I drove a 
pike through the body of a cursed Frenchman. 

Lasache. Yes, yes, you must have quarreled with 
him. He insulted you — he spoke ill of a friend, per- 
haps your child or wife. You did not murder him, no, 
no; but who was he? 

Scarred. M. Foulon ! 

Lasache. He has been dead for fitteeu years, this is 
a jest. 

Scarred. Near this same chateau I saw the portrait 
of this man, I destroyed it, soon after the gendarmes 
had me but I escaped, thanks to some mad woman. 

Lasache. Have you no friends, Monsieur? 

Scarred. None since I killed my clog (drinks.) 

Lasache. Under what unlucky star were you born, 
my friend, that the death of a dog should leave you 
friendless? 

Scarred. I was not born under an unlucky star, but 
a cursed unlucky planet. 

Lasache. You say you are friendless? 

Scarred. Yes; but what do I care? 

Lasache. I see a portrait ou the chain that's about 
your neck. 

Scarred. You lie, old man, you didn't see it ; (covers 
portrait vrith his hand) I am wrong, Monsieur, I am 
wrong; for ten years I have guarded this, they took 
the rest, all I had in the world but this, ha, ha! (look- 
ing at portrait) they never saw your face, my little 



SCARRED. 31 

dove. Ah, Monsieur. I was wrong - , I forgot that I 
was free. 

Lasache. You have a good heart, ray friend. 

Scarred. Oh, ray little angel, M. Foulon paid for his 
sin. 

Lasache. M. Foulon! Did he ever injure you? 

Scarred. No, but he injured her. My head whirls — 
'tis the wine, I suppose — I had forgotten that. 

Lasache. Forgotten what? 

Scarred. Forgotten ! no, no, I see her now, she 
stands upon the bridge, the night is dark, the fallen 
snow has gathered upon all senseless things, the lights 
of Pont Neuf cast their flickering gleams through the 
darkness to the river. See how the snow flies across 
the lighted paths and in silence mingles with the dark 
waters beiow. The river and the rich alone defy the 
storm ; but see how it falls upon the poor and chills 
their shivering flesh, how they run to keep their bodies 
warm. Look! look! beneath the iron column, where 
the light falls, see that child out in the storm asking 
for charity; she begs from the poor who have none to 
give, from the rich who seldom gives. See, see, yes, 
'tis he, M. Foulon ! he walks in the snow like the poor, 
she sees him, such misefy must soften his heart; he is 
rich, has more gold than any man in France — he will 
give. Look, look, M. Foulon, to your right, now 
among the throng; yes, you see her; till her little cold 
hand with gold; no, no, you have not seen her; look, 
she follows you again. Yes, yes, M. Foulon, 'twas 
her little hand that pulled your coat, take her to your 
bosom, wrap your warm furs about her and bear her to 
your palace home, nobody will care. What! you 
cursed monster, you have thrust her from you, she has 
fallen in the snow. You vile aristocrat, Til kill you — 
Where am — 



32 SCARRED. 

Lasaofye. 'Tis of a child you speak. 

Scarred. My head whirls, where am I? I see the 
wine. 

Lasache. 'Tis a sad picture; what became of the 
child? 

Scarred. My head ! the child, the child. 
[Lasache looks at portrait, starts'], 

Lasache. Let me see that face, I have seen those 
eyes before. 

Scarred. Stand back ! 

Lasache. Then tell me what became of the child? 
What became of her? 

Lcarred. I took her to her home. 

Lasache. Where? 

Scarred. In a garret. 

Lasache. You did not see her father or mother? 

Scarred. No ; she lived with an old woman. 

Lasache. Tell me all; I would see that face again. 

Scarred. When I reached her home, the squeaking 
of the frosty boards was the only sound that welcomed 
me. No fire, no light; hungry and alone I left her in 
search of food and fuel. 
[Lasache looks at portrait, starts'] . 

Lasache (aside). 'Tis she, "'tis she, my child, my 
child ! And you lifted her from the snow? 

Scarred. Yes. 

Lasache. And you cared for her? 

Scarred, Yes. 

Lasache. Oh, Monsieur, may God bless you. I am 
your friend, and I can favor you. You say you have 
been in the galleys? 

Scarred. Yes ; that night I stole fifteen francs, I 
saw them in the hands of a rich man, I sprang like a 
young tiger and snatched the money, I did not get 



SCARRED. 33 

beyond his reach when he struck me with his sword. 
With the money I bought bread and fuel. That night 
I lay upon the hearth with my head bleeding, it was a 
terrible cut, and at midnight when I piled the faggots 
on the fire the blood would trickle down my face and 
fall into the ashes like drops of rain 

LasarJie. Oh what became of her, the child? can 
you not tell me? 

Scarred. I never saw her more. Old man, you weep 
like a child ; I too have wept for her, and for myself 
when in chains, 'Twas to feed that little child I stole 
the money, and for that they condemned me to the 
galleys for ten years. 

Lasache. It was cruel, it was cruel! (he weeps). 

Scarred (drinks). This wine makes me — . Look 
you, old man, the thoughts of the past rush upon me — 
the wine, I am a child again, I can hear her say, "don't 
weep, gentle boy, my kiss will heal that wound." 

Lasache. That name ! Where did you hear it? 

Scarred. They call me Scarred. See. If there is a 
God, on that great clay when all are judged that child 
will look on the pale faces of all, and when she sees 
that scar, she'll plead for me — for me, the galley slave. 

Lasache. Aye, and he will be more merciful than 
we have been. 

Scarred. You ? 
[Enters Marie and hides behind screen] . 

Lasache. No, I mean them, your enemies. 

Scarred. Enemies ! I have no enemies. 

Lasache. Monsieur, I fear you have too many. 

Scarred. No enemies, no enemies. 

Lasache. Rouse yourself, my friend, you are in 
danger ! 

Scarred. No enemies. 



34 SCARRED. 

Lasache. Asleep, and alone. I say, Monsieur, rouse 
yourself. The thought makes me shudder. He has 
suffered all for her — my child. What care; yes, I will. 
(Storm and thunder heard again) I'll keep my promise. 
(Locks the door Takes knife from table. The storm 
comes on again. Goes to fireplace and removes a stone, 
takes out bag of gold, places it on table, takes bottle from 
table and puts it to Scarred 's nose). I say, rouse your- 
self, I fear you are in danger. (Shakes). 

Scarred. What is it? 

Lasache. Here, take this, boy, twenty thousand 
francs. I have given you all. Leave Paris to-night. 

Scarred. Twenty thousand enemies. 

Lasache. Rouse yourself. I fear it's no use. He'll 
be safe here until morning. He was hungry, I gave 
him naught but wine. Beneath this rough exterior 
there is a manly heart. Oh, God ! he has suffered all 
for my child and for my crime (he weeps). Ill-fated 
youth, rest here, rest in peace, I'll leave you, and with 
a sad heart seek for rest that a heavy conscience may 
not give. The savings of my life are yours, you must 
leave Paris, and when the time comes you shall know 
all, here you are secure until to-morrow. He has suf- 
fered all for her, ray child. (Exit). 

Marie. They are gone and I am alone once more. 
I know they were taking me from my Maurice, and 
when the carriage rolled into the gutter I escaped. 
Maurice will return; yes, and I will tell him of his 
danger, that the gendarmes will again put him in 
prison if he is found. Last night in my dreams I saw 
Maurice chained to the walls of a dungeon, he said I 
riveted those shackles upon him, but it is not true, and 
when I see him again he will hear this from my lips. 

(She looks through telescope). 



SCARRED. 35 

[Scene rises, disclosing dungeon. Vision of a man in 

chains. Marie screams.~\ 
It was not I who did it, it was not I! (falls near 

Scanned) . 



ACT III. 

An elapse of jive years between second and third acts. 
Sckne — The home of Victor Vedoc, on sea-coast, 
northern shore of France. Parlor richly decorated. 
Vedoc discovered searching table. 

Victor. Three hours of grand confusion and all is 
over : now to learn the truth. A secret lover, ha, ha ! 
Guilty? Yes, she hides his letters as a thief would 
hide his plunder, I saw it here to-day, Woman ! if it be 
true that you love another then I'm outwitted. Your 
heart must be mine, yes, mine to break, this was the 
revenge I. married you for; you shall complain of my 
indifference no longer, I must win your heart again. 

Fanchette. Why! are you here, Victor? 

Victor. I scarcely realize I'm anywhere else, except 
in a nunnery. 

Fanchette. How strange you talk; in a nunnery? 

Victor. Yes, where solemn faces check all thoughts 
of mirth. Egad, if our fair hostess and her pretty 
cousin didn't look like waltzing nuns at the dance to- 
night. 

Fanchette. Would you have a sick woman dance 
until she sank exhausted to please her husband and 
enliven his guests. As for myself — 

Victor. Yes, Mademoiselle, tell me the cause of 
your grief? 

Fanchette. Can you not guess? 

Victor. Oh, yes ; my wife has engaged her pretty 
cousin's ear with secret recital of all her misery. 

Fanchette. If aught but bad health makes her un- 
happy I have it not in confidence. 



SCARRED. 37 

Victor (aside). I don't thiuk she deceives me — 
Among your many masculine friends and admirers can 
you refer me to another devil like myself? 

Fanchette (catching him by the arm, Victor gives his 
attention to his sword). Victor, you are a very strange 
man; never yet have I seen that person who could 
say, "I understand him," yet I respect you (Fanchette 
looks at him surprised). 

Victor. You were not respecting- yourself but me 
when you stopped, please proceed (he turns around, 
Fanchette weeps).. Pray, what's the trouble? Hold, let 
me see ; yes, I have it (takes eye-stone from his pocket) 
I got it from the best oculist in Paris (looking at eye- 
stone). The passage you are now to take is around a 
heavenly orb, more brilliant than Venus and as fiery as 
Mars ; little traveller of space, I envy you your flight. 
This will soon remove it. 

Fanchette. Remove it? 

Victor. Yes, an eye-stone, it was purchased from 
the best oculist in Paris. Shut your sore eye, open 
the other 

Fanchette. You jest with me as if I were a child, I 
will not submit to your rudeness. 

Victor. These are unkind words, unbecoming one 
of your lovely nature. I never jest, I volunteered my 
eye-stone. 

Fanchette. Your conduct towards me at times is 
very singular. 

Victor. I ask pardon if I have offended you, yes, I 
do, I'm not jesting. Where are you going? 

Fanchette. To Marie; perhaps she can appreciate 
my company better than her husband; I sincerely im- 
plore your pardon if my conduct towards your wife 
to-night has soured your temper. 



3S SCARRED. 

Victor. Your conduct towards my wife! I noticed 
nothing - extraordinary in your deportment. 

Fanchette. Enough, it seems to be rebuked. 

Victor. Mademoiselle, she prefers to be alone. 

Fanchette. If my presence annoys her I can retire 
to the apartments assigned me by her generous and 
hospitable husband. 

Victor {advancing to Fanchette). Your last remark 
reminds me that you are my guest, don't mind what I 
say. I'm perhaps what you might call a ruffian, unfit 
for no ladies' society but yours, that is to say, I respect 
none but you, or in other words I never speak to ladies, 
but I have had many conversations with you. 

Fanchette. Please, Victor, don't annoy me any 
longer. 

Victor You're a blessed soul. Will Mademoiselle 
tell before she goes? You are unhappy, and because 
Marie suffers with a headache? 

Fanchette. Not that alone but then I must see her. 
You would not deprive her of the little sympathy I 
may offer. 

Victor. Oh no, the wretch that would do that 
would deprive the suckling of its milk, would steal 
from the hungry man his meal. No, no, you have my 
permission to engage every sympathetic nerve in that 
direction. You say not that alone, pray what else? 

Fanchette. I have been disappointed because my 
father has not arrived. 

Victor (aside). True, she docs not know he is here. 
You love your father? 

Fanchette. Yes; and you would if you knew him. 

Victor. I do know him and if you love him you are 
an obedient daughter. But what are you going to do 
with Gerard? Does your little, wizened heart contain 



SCARRED. 39 

love enough for both? I beg your pardon, that I mcau 
does your darling, little heart contain love enough for 
Gerard and your little wizened father? the deuce, I 
don't mean anything I say. 

Fanchette. If I thought you did — 

Victor. Well, if your thoughts deceive you so much 
the better. Lay that picture down and come here. 

Fanchette. Never mind, you need not trouble your- 
self. 

Victor. Something serious I know by your manner. 
You love Gerard? 

Fanchette. You know I do. 

Victor. That's extraordinary, ere you know the man 
you love the stranger. 

Fanchette. How can you say that? Your kindest 
words to me are but taunts severe, bitter and indulged 
in without charity ; unlike you I have a heart capable 
of affection. Dare you who boasted of his gallantry, 
hishonor,now insinuate that my heart has been given to 
one unworthy of its affection, but one breath from you 
against his honor and I'll tear his image from my heart 
and loathe you when I have forgotten him. 

Victor This terrible transport of feminine frenzy 
quite shocks my nerves, another such fit would send 
me to the mad-house, inquiring the price of board and 
lodging for a hopeless case of feminine lunacy. 

Fanchette. You are a cruel man, I cherish nothing 
but you despise, I love none but you malign. 

Victor. Fanchette, you have at last convinced me 
that you love Gerard, I have been wanting in faith of 
the sincerity of your affection, I now believe that you 
love him, that his future is placed beyond the peril of 
woman's capricious fancy ; the means I have employed 
to leavn the truth may have been cruel, but, Fanchette, 



4-0 SCARRED. 

you know I never deal in gentle cunning. I may be 
severe, ay, cruel, but I despise nothing, I malign no 
one. 

Fanchette. Forgive me, Victor, I was in a passion, 
I might have known that you did not intend to be un- 
kind, but took this funny way to learn if my love for 
Gerard was sincere. But you believe me now, do you 
not, Victor? 

Victor. Yes, for in that passion I saw the truth. 

Fanchette. I was wrong, Victor. 

Victor. No, no, I like to see the soul convulsed by 
terrible passion, 'tis then I judge the mind, every other 
impulse may for foul deception be designed, but pas- 
sion never lies. 

Fanchette. Believing wow that I love Gerard, tell 
me is the stranger, as you call him, a man of honor? 

Victor. Beyond the honor of that man's heart 
there's aught of honor but that has creation alone in 
poetry and in silly books ; he is a man, the noblest of 
his kind Here he comes, (aside) Speak of the devil 
and he's sure to appear. 
{Enter Gerard~\ 

Gerard. Why, Fanchette aud Victor, how serious 
you look, another quarrel? 

Fanchette. No, we have had our last quarrel. 

Gerard. Egad! this will please your friends. (To 
Fanchette) You look happier now than when I saw you 
at the ball. Fanchette, has any act of mine offended 
you? 

Fanchette. Why, no ! 

Gerard. You avoided me this afternoon. 

Fanchette. Avoided you ! You avoided me. 

Gerard. I looked for you. 

Fanchette. I looked for you. 



SCARRED. 41 

Gerard. Where were you? 

Fanchette. On the beach, seeing the bathers and 
watching: the surf. 

Gerard, Alone? 

Fanchette. Yes, alone. I walked up to the falaises 
and there I sat until the sun went down. 

Gerard. Had you been happy would you have 
passed so many hours alone? 

Fanchette. I was happy, very happy, but impatient 
for the hour to come when I should see my dear 
father. 

Gerard. Oh yes, I understand you. 

Fanchette. But he disappointed me. 

Gerard {aside). She has not seen him yet. — Do you 
think you will know him? 

Fanchette. In his last letter he wrote that he had 
greatly changed, but I shall know hiin though I have 
not seen him for a year or more. Now, where were 
you? 

Gerard. Failing to find you I went to the lower 
falaises to bathe. 

Fanchette. Oh, you must be careful, the undertow is 
dangerous there. 

Gerard. Not as dangerous as below the falaises, for 
there's where young Lafitte and Count de Grille were 
drowned. 

Fanchette. And yet when returning I saw a man 
enter the water at that very place. 

Gerard. He must have been a stranger, else he never 
would have ventured in there. 

Fanchette. I wanted to warn him of his danger, but 
thought of speaking to a gentleman in a bathing suit 
struck me as something unladylike. 
{Exeunt Gerard and Fanchette.'] 



42 SCARRED. 

Victor (excited, starts up and throws book violently on 
floor). Cursed, and doubly cursed be woman's pride 
that bids to serve the mockery of polished manners. 
Oh, what a fool ! yet 'tis the manner of her day. But 
this very morning she told me that once in Brest, her 
father seeing- a beggarly wretch drowning, sprang into 
the water and brought him safe to the shore; and she, 
the daughter of this man; sees a stranger walking 
perhaps into a watery grave, and says not a word to 
warn him of his clanger. 
[Enters Gerard] 

Gerard. Where can the Marquis D'Orviile be? 'tis 
nearly midnight. 

Victor. I have not seen him since he left this room 
in your company. 

Gerard. I remained with him until he called on the 
quartermaster of the gendarmes. 

Victor. Quartermaster of gendarmes ! 

Gerard. At that time [ begged to be excused. Ha, 
ha! 

Victor. Where's Fanchette? 

Gerard. Gone for her mantle. The moon is up, we 
are going to the beach. She must not retire until he 
returns. (They advance) Do you know the early history 
of this family? 

Victor. Yes. 
" Gerard. Plow many children had the Marquis D'Or- 
viile? 

Victor. Two. 

Gerard. The first was a boy? 

Victor. Yes. 

Gerard. And what became of him? 

Victor. That's a mystery. 

Gerard* Perhaps not. 



SCARRED. 43 

Victor. It was supposed that the child was lost in 
the ruins when chateau D'Orville was burned by the 
mob. 

Gerard. And many thought the child was stolen. 

Victor. Yes. 

Gerard. It appears that the child vms stolen, and is 
note alive. 

Victor. Well, what's that to me? 

Gerard. Only this : that the Marquis D'Orville's 
visit to the quartermaster was to hold communication 
with the prefet de police concerning- the discovery of 
his son. 

Victor. If he has not been found what leads them 
to suppose he is alive? 

Gerard. It is said he was alive five years ago, and 
was seen near Paris. 

Victor. By whom? 

Gerard. By an old astronomer named Lasache. 

Victor. Lasache ! 

Gerard. It seems you know him? 

Victor. No, I don't know him, but yet I've heard 
that name. But what do I care about this lost child : 
enough of this. 

Gerard. Your interest is entirely in the Marquis 
D'Orville's intended son-in-law. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Victor. Has the Marquis promised you the hand of 
his daughter in marriage? 

Gerard. Yes. 

Victor. So he consents to wed her to the devil? 

Gerard. He consigns her to my care, body and soul, 
and accepts me as his son-in-law solely on your repre- 
sentations that I am a gentleman, and grandson of 
Louis Gerard, colonel of — 

Victor. Quite a difference between the grandson of 



44 SCARRED. 

Louis Gerard and a lineal descendant of Michel Ger- 
ard who gave his head to the Empire for cutting a 
man's throat, to relieve his pecuniary wants. 

Gerard. You need not remind me of the misfortunes 
of my father. 

Victor. The proud daughter of the Marquis D'Or- 
ville to marry you, ha, ha! You little thought of such 
good fortune when you escaped from Toulon. Quite a 
contrast is there not between the galley and this 
luxury? 

Gerard. I will allow you as well as me to be the 
judge. Yet, I thank you for it all. I may make an 
acceptable husband for Mademoiselle Fanchette, not- 
withstanding we have been in the galleys. I think the 
future generation of the Gerards will be an improve- 
ment on the past. 

Victor. If they go to their graves without the mark 
of the hangman's knot under their ears, or with heads 
ou their bodies, the improvement will surprise me. 

Gerard. I dislike to have you jest in this manner. 

Victor. I never was more serious in my life. 

Gerard. We'll not quarrel. 

Victor. No ; the improvement of the Gerard stock 
you anticipate is of little consequence, not worth the 
slightest misunderstanding between friends. 

Gerard. Say what you may, but if I ever have the 
liberty to perpetuate my specia with Mademoiselle 
Fanchette as a partner in the commendable enterprise, 
I shall exort them — 

Victor. To avoid the ways of their father and 
escape the galleys. 

Gerard (jumps up). As I am a Frenchman I would 
hold others accountable for these repeated insults. 

Victor. So my fond hopes are to be realized, and 



SCARRED. 45 

you are to be the husband of Mademoiselle Fanchette ; 
a happy union of pride and vice. 

Gerard. It's no use to quarrel with you, all I can 
say is, I love Fanchette. 

Victor. You love the daughter of the Marquis D'Or- 
ville, yon assuming- villain! if I thought you dared to 
love her, or had any hopes beyond my terrible purpose 
1 would deprive you of your stolen liberty. 

Gerard. And you'd have me marry her? 

Victor. Yes, marry her. 

Gerard. I'm not to love her? 

Victor. No. 

Gerard. But to hate her? 

Victor. No. 

Gerard. Then prescribe to me a line of conduct, 
you are a hard fellow to suit 

Victor. Neither love nor hate her, but you must 
respect her. You need not respect yourself. If among 
her friends you can establish your old reputation for 
profligacy, I shall be highly gratified. The inclination 
you have to squander everybody's money but your own, 
will be of service to you, provided you aspire to my 
conception. of a model husband. Enough; here comes 
Mademoiselle. (Enters Fanchette) Well, my friend, the 
nocturnal perambulations of lovers gazing at the 
moon, and whispering silly things of love and poetry, 
is a pleasant picture to contemplate. 

Fanchette. Come, Gerard, that remark was not for 
us. [Exeunt Fanchette and Gerard. - ] 

Victor. That man has the instinct of a knave, and 
the polish of a gentleman. Oh, heavens ! how inhu- 
man to conspire against the happiness of even this 
proud woman, but yet it's been my hope to bow her 
head with shame, and now as that hope is to be real- 



46 SCARRED. 

zed, I tremble for her. What a fool I am, I swore 
that if Gocl did not punish her, I would. Did she not 
deny me the food she gave a dog? yes, and as I live but 
for revenge, I'll not relent, but with a purpose, I'll 
destroy her with the rest. (Violent knocking at door.) 
What does this mean? 
[Enter gendarmes, servants and villagers.'} 

1st gendarme. The body of a man washed ashore 
was found on the beach below the falaises ; by the 
papers found in his clothes he has been identified as 
the Marquis D'Orville. We also learn that he was the 
guest of Monsieur Vedoc. 

Victor. Drowned ! This is terrible. 
[Enter men carrying body of the Marquis] . 

1st gendarme. He entered the water below the fa- 
laises. 'Twas sad that some one was not present to 
warn him of his danger. 

Victor. Yes, 'twas sad, 'twas sad. 
[Body of Marquis D'Orville placed at right of stage 
covered with mantle.} [Exeunt all but Victor} 

Victor. You have passed the living and are now 
among the dead, hurled into eternity in the presence of 
your own child, but one word from her and you would 
have been saved. Saved for what? to witness her 
disgrace, the victim of a foul conspiracy! No, no; the 
treacherous waves were more merciful than I, 'twas 
well that they closed over you until life had fled. 
What, what is this ! Too proud to feed the hungry ; 
too proud to warn the stranger of his peril ; can it be 
the hand of Providence? No, no; 'tis too terrible, 
her sins deserved not this punishment. When I 
prayed that Heaven might revenge her insult to man- 
kind, I did not ask for this. 
[Enter Gerard and Fanchette.'] 



SCARRED. 47 

Fanchette. Father, father, where are you? (to Vic- 
tor) They said he was here. Why so many at the 
porch with solemn faces, talking- of him and of the 
dreadful undertow? Speak, Victor, where is he? 
Answer me, father; father, where are you? no, no, 
don't hide from me as you used to, I'm not a child now. 

[Exit.] 
[Gerard discovers the body of the Marquis.] 

Gerard (aside). Great heavens, dead! 
[Fanchette returns.] 

Fanchette. Victor, where is he? will you not speak? 

Victor. Fanchette (takes her by the hand), why are 
you so alarmed? 

Fanchette. Tell me, is he here? 

Victor. Your father is here. 

Fanchette. Has any misfortune befallen him? 

Victor. Not a hair of his head has been harmed. 

Fanchette. Oh, how frightened I was ; I must go to 
meet him. 

Victor. Not now, when he has shaken off the dust 
of a long journey, and you are ready you may see him. 

Fanchette. Don't condemn me for my weakness, I 
was frightened; I must go and prepare to meet him. 

Victor. Remain, Fanchette. 

Fanchette. How foolish I was to be frightened at 
the appearance of those rude people ; beggars, I sup- 
pose? 

Victor. Beggars ! perhaps so. 

Fanchette. They always follow him for he gives 
them money, but I despise them ; oh, my heart ! Why 
don't you have them driven away (she falls into a 
chair.) 

Victor (aside). Were I in rags and dying of hunger 
she would have me hunted from her door despised as 



48 SCARRED. 

they are. Oh, hard-hearted woman, humanity has suf- 
fered by your pride, and this affliction is the fruit of thine 
own folly. 'Tis well, 'tis but just that you should know 
it. 

Fanchette. That fright almost overcomes me. (She 
starts to go.) 

Victor. Fanchette, I have a story to tell you, and 
when I have finished you will see your father. 

Fanchette. Then let it be brief. 

Victor. Once upon a time a squirrel had its home in 
the branches of a large tree that shaded the lawn of a 
great chateau, its nest was filled with choicest nuts; 
from the forest home of a rodent friend came a little 
female squirrel to visit it and share its bountiful hoard. 
One day, while at the foot of the tree eating nuts, a 
weary, rodent traveler stopped and asked for one, it 
was hungry and had no nest of its own, for when quite 
young it was caught by a bad boy and shut up in a 
cage for many seasons. It had just regained its free- 
dom and was going to the forest to make a nest and 
gather nuts for itself. But this female squirrel was 
very proud, and instead of giving a nut to the little 
traveler, it chippered with derision and ran up the tree. 
The weary rodent traveler passed on to the forest and 
before many seasons it had a fine home of its own, and 
lived with its mate in a high tree that stood on the banks 
of a beautiful stream. Not many seasons after, the proud 
squirrel came to the home of the once homeless and 
weary traveler, and, strange to say, the once despised 
and hungry beggar witnessed the pride of that haughty 
rodent punished by its own folly. 

Fanchette. Ha, ha, ha ! I understand you ; who has 
told you that I once refused an escaped convict food 
and then fed his dog? Ha, ha, ha ! you are angry, I 



SCARRED. 49 

heard you railing against me when Gerard and I left 
you alone, because I did not warn the gentleman of 
the dangerous undertow. 

Victor. You did wrong, Fauchette. 

Fanchette. I would ask pardon if I could see them, 
and all for yo.ir sake (she laughs.) 

Victor. You can see them, Fanchette. 

Fanchette. I can? 

Victor. That convict is now your friend. 

Fanchette. My friend? 

Victor. Yes, your friend; and the other was your 
father. 

Fanchette. My father! 

Victor. And your victim (shows her the body). 

Fanchette. What, cold! dead! no, no; father! 
father ! those glassy eyes ! speak, oh, dead ! (she weeps, 
is led to the door by Gerard) . 

Victor. Gerard, our dreadful design is at au end, 
beyond his grave I'll guard her honor as I would my 
life; you must quit France immediately. 

Gerard. And for what reason? 

Victor. Because it is my wish. 

Gerard. That alone is not enough. 

Victor. Say you so? 

Gerard I have said it ; I would have your reason. 

Victor. I need your services no longer. 

Gerard. Very well ; absolved from any further obli- 
gations to obey your behests as a servant, you can now 
recognize me as a gentleman. 

Victor. Then you refuse to go? 

Gerard. Yes ; I refuse to go. 

Victor. To what end? 

Gerard. That I may marry Mademoiselle Fanchette ; 
if heaven hath interposed between her and your 
designs it hath not between her love and mine. 



5o 



SCARRED. 



Victor. Don't assail my ears with such language. 
Gerard. Don't lose your temper, it will answer no 
purpose. 

Victor. Do you see that dial? 
Gerard. Yes, I see that dial. 

Victor. Mark well the time, if you refuse to go, in 
one hour you'll be under the protection of the police ; 
ay, count the seconds for at the sixty-first your answer 
will be too late. One, two, three— 

Gerard (aside). He forgets that he too was in the 
galleys, he dare not betray me. He has a terrible will, 
but he's not a fool. He tempted me with the prize and 
now as it is almost within my grasp he would place it 
beyond my reach, no, no. He cannot betray me with- 
out betraying himself. 

Victor. See, you mad villain, the time is almost up. 

Gerard. What does this mean? 

Victor. It means that I will call the police. 

Gerard. And in the presence of them all betray 
your own villainy. 

Victor. Ay, in the presence of them all; see, see, 
the time; oh, fool, will you go? (threatens to ring). 

Gerard. I defy you. 

Victor. 'Tis done; you have riveted your own 
chains; your ancestors never had such a chance to 
escape the galleys. 

Gerard. Rail as you will ; yea, scoff at my ancestors ^ 
but why don't you ring? why don't you rouse the in- 
mates of this house, and before them all denounce 
your friend and galley comrade, the man whom you 
have chosen to wed the daughter of the Marquis D'Or- 
ville, ay, the grandson of Louis Gerard, the companion 
of your childhood. ( Victor threatens to ring again) You 
dare not strike ! Summon them all, let them hear the 



SCARRED. 51 

history of Monsieur Victor Vedoc, the galley slave ; 
fear not, the memory of your ancestors will not suffer. 

Victor. Hold ! Your base insinuation I understand, 
another word and I'll drive this through you. 

Gerard. You need not draw unless to settle this dis- 
pute with your sword. 

Victor (shuts door, takes from table case of pistols). 
You have the choice of weapons. 

Gerard. I'll trust this blade. 

Victor. Be it so. 
[They fight, Gerard is disarmed and falls.~] 

Gerard. If you strike I'll cry aloud and swear your 
design was murder. 

Victor. Take your weapon (lie writes). This ends 
our quarrel, my wits are not enough for you. 

Gerard. You speak the truth; had you called the 
gendarmes I would have denounced you in the presence 
of every inmate of this house, and then would have 
escaped their clutches. 
[ Victor rings. Enters servant, gives note to servant] 

Victor. Some wine, ha, ha (exit servant). You 
thought I was in earnest when I threatened to call the 
police? 

Gerard. You looked serious, I assure you. 
[Enters servant with winc~\. 

Servant (to Vedoc). They have not left the chateau. 

[They drink.] 

Victor. Here's that we may never quarrel again, 
and that your journey may be a pleasant one. 

Gerard. My journey? I don't understand you. 

Victor. I shall try and make myself understood. 

Gerard {gets up from table excited). You have sent 
for the gendarmes, I understand all now, henceforth 
we are enemies. Beware ! I'm not yet in their 



52 SCARRED. 

clutches, and before I depart from this house Madame 
Vedoc shall know that the man whom she calls her 
husband is Scarred, once a galley slave — ever a bas- 
tard. 

[ Vedoc draws sword, Gerard rushes to the door, gen- 
darmes appear. Gerard starts back]. 

Victor (to gendarmes). Arrest this man. 

Gerard (draws his sword, rushes at Vedoc, who parries 
his thrust), I'll kill you. 

[Gerard is disarmed by gendarmes]. 

1st gendarme. Are you Michel Gerard who escaped 
from Toulon? 

Gerard. Yes, I'm Michel Gerard who escaped from 
Toulon; but know you that man? 

Victor (shuts the door), I'll save you the trouble of 
an introduction, (to gendarmes) You and my neigh- 
bors know me as Monsieur Victor Vedoc, he has known 
me as "Scarred," once a resident of Toulon, where I 
served the government f^rten years very faithfully and 
with but little recompense. 

1st gendarme. Scarred? 

Gerard. Yes, Scarred the bastard, who served ten 
years in the galley for robbery. 

[Exeunt all but Scarred and 1st gendarme] 

1st gendarme. Scarred, did you say? 

Victor. Yes, Scarred. 

1st gendarme. I must go, I must go, but will return ; 
read this. (Exit) 

Victor. Bastard ! oh, God, it may be so ! Who am 
I? What am I? Never yet have I looked upon the 
face of one whom I could call my father (he sinks into a 
chair). Scarred, have the gendarmes heard of Scarred? 
Yes; as he gave me this he looked mysterious, and 
said I will return. (He reads) " The child was stolen by 



SCARRED. 53 

a ruffian with the design to extort money from the 
grief-stricken parents for its restoration, but the Mar- 
quis D'Orville having left Paris the ruffian placed him- 
self in communication with La Brae, and to whom he re- 
vealed the whereabouts of the stolen child, on receipt 
of the money demanded; this discovery La Brae never 
revealed but had the child removed to obscure quarters 
in Paris iu charge of a wretch who was ignorant of its 
noble birth; for years nothing was known of the ill- 
fated offspring of the Marquis D'Orville and its re- 
membrance was well nigh obliterated even by the cruel 
La Brae, but these years of obscurity developed the 
helpless infant into promising manhood. But again 
the hand of the destroyer was upon him, for La Brae 
again recognized his victim, as no other than the 
youthful companion and lover of one whom he called 
his own child, by her the unfortunate youth became 
known to La Brae, for once he confided to her the 
story of a daring crime he committed, to explain the 
cause of a scar on his temple. La Brae gave Informa- 
tion that led to his arrest, and he was condemned to 
the galleys for ten years. He was known among the 
convicts as "Scarred." He was discharged five years 
ago, and was last seen near Paris by M. Lasache an 
old astronomer." My father! Oh, God, this cannot be! 
The rest is true, ah, too true. What ! yes, I see it all, 
a world of light breaks upon me, 'twas the will, the 
will! (he takes his father's hand) Oh, La Brae, La Brae, 
you could have had all, all of mine, ali but the name of 
an honest birth, could I have looked into this face 
ere death had closed these eyes forever, and said, this 
is my father (he weeps). Oh, father, I weep, this heart 
of stone now melts, to that marble brow so cold in 
death I press my lips in grief. Father, father, will you 



54 SCARRED. 

not speak? art those lips forever mute? (he starts up) 
What ! I echo but the words of that poor child, whose 
heart now breaks as mine with grief. Oh, God, this 
is terrible! when I prayed heaven to revenge my wrong 
I say (he puts his hand on his head and bovis) I did not 
ask for this. Yes, I could have saved him, I could 
have saved him ! I refused to go with him bent as I 
was upon my terrible purpose. "Vengeance is mine : " 
yes, in that Holy Book Heaven hath said so; this is 
my punishment. 

[Enter servant.] 

Servant. Monsieur, 'tis very late, shall we retire? 

Victor. Yes, but first bear the Marquis to my room 
(he weeps). No lighted candles or shrouds of black; 
place him where the stars of heaven can shine upon 
his bier. In the darkness and with the dead I alone 
shall keep the watch. (Exeunt servants carrying the 
body of the Marquis from the stage). Oh, La Brae and 
my wife, 'twas well done, you sent me to the galleys. 
[Enters Marie excited'] . 

Marie. Oh, Victor, this is terrible. (She attempts 
to kiss the corpse, Vedoc catches hold of her). 

Victor. Hold, woman, your foul lips were never 
made for such a purpose. 

Marie. Victor, Victor, you are mad, you are mad ! 

Victor. Yes, mad ; your preseuce and the events of 
this hour have kindled in my breast every smouldering 
passion of anger, hate and revenge. 

Marie. Victor, Victor, what have I clone? 

Victor Such a sight as damns you in my sight for- 
ever. 

Marie (catching him by the arm). Oh, tell me what 
have I clone? 

Victor. Release your hold. 



SCARRED. 55 

Marie. I cannot until you tell me the cause of your 
anger. 

Victor. Weep, weep on, weep until your heart con- 
tributes to those eyes, and then you'll see a stream as 
black as hell. Release your hold, I say. {He thrusts 
her from him, she falls on her knees). 

Marie. Father in Heaven, what does this mean? 

Victor. It means that I. hate you, woman. 

Marie. Kill me if you will, but if you will not, tell 
me the cause of your auger, I will brave your fury. 

Victor. Your blood shall not be upon my hands 

Marie. You are a coward to treat your wife in this 
way. 

Victor. Coward? 

Marie. Yea, and a brute : what crime have I com- 
mitted? 

{Enters servant.) 

Servant. A stranger desires to see madam e. 

Victor. Tell him to go. {Exit servant.) 

Marie. I repeat, what crime have I committed? 

Victor. Would you know? Must I too fall a victim 
to your broken vows? 

Marie. I don't understand you. 

Victor. When I married you — 

Marie. I said my heart was in the grave with an- 
other. 

Victor. Ay, but you swore to be true. 

Marie. Have I not? 

Victor. Yes, as faithful to me as you were to him. 

Marie. To whom? 

Victor. To the youth whom you sent to the galleys ; 
ay, you turn pale, so did I when I saw him chained in 
a living tomb, with the rusty shackles festering his 
naked limbs. 



$6 SCARRED. 

Marie. Don't, don't, I will hear no more. Victor, 
why talk of such dreadful thiugs to-night, when death 
is in our midst. 

Victor. You betrayed him, and you have proven 
false to me. 

Marie. It is not true. 

Victor. The contents of this box will prove it. 

Marie. No, no, 'tis mine, give it to me, you shall 
not open it. 

Victor. If you are innocent — 

Maine. I am, Victor, I am. 

Victor. The proof is here. 

Marie. Give it to me ; you shall not open it. 
(Enters servant.) 

Servant. The gentleman says he must see maclame. 

(Exit.) 

Marie. Have you no faith in your wife? 

Victor. You are not my wife. Go fly with him, you 
have been my mistress and perhaps his. 

Marie. Your mistress? 

Victor. Aye ! he who married us was not a priest. 

Marie. Victor Vedoc, can this be true? I see, I see 
this is the secret of your cruel neglect. I have it from 
your own lips, but you shall not go unpunished, (enter 
M Lasache and servant) you shall die. 

Lasache. My child, my daughter, I have at last 
found you. (She shoots Vedoc, he falls.) What, 
daughter, you have killed him ! 

(Tableau.) 



SCARRED. 57 



ACT IV. 

Scene — The upper observatory of the astronomer, La- 
sache, overlooking Paris. The city by moonlight. 
Lasache discovered at telescope. 

{Enters Marie). 

Marie. Father, I could not remain below. 

Lasache. The stars are out to-night, else I would 
not have left you. 

Marie. When I am alone I think of the past. Let 
me remain here, I too love the stars. 

Lasache. Yes, my child, here by my side. ( Offers a, 
chair) . 

Marie. No, no, I will not interrupt you, forget that 
I am here. 

Lasache. Forget that you are here ; ha, ha, 1 would 
not forget that. 

Marie. But the heavens are clear, and you were to 
make observations. 

Lasache. The heaven is clear, but in that starry 
vault no orb like thine could cross my field of view. 
Ay, they are moist, and there's a tear. 

Marie. I weep for her in Heaven. 

Lasache. For whom, my daughter? 

Marie. For my mother (Lasache starts) ; your hand 
trembles, and your face is like the dead; why, you are 
not well ! 

Lasache. I sometimes tremble like this, I am old 
now. 

Marie. Tell me how lonu - she has been dead. 



58 SCARRED. 

Lasache. Talk not of the dead : we live, my darling 
child, and her old father. 

dfarie. Yes ; but tell me of her. 

Lasache. She was my wife, you bear her name, she 
was taken from me when you were an infant, and laid 
in the tomb. She's in heaven now. 

Marie. How were we separated? 

Lasache. I will tell you, my but we are not sep- 
arated now. Don't weep ; you have had more than 
your share of this world's sorrows. 

Marie. Yes, yes. (She weeps). 

Lasache. Forgive me; I was unkind to remind you 
of your misfortunes; but you will again be happy. 

Marie. No, never, never again, he will not forgive 
me, for I would have killed him. He told me I was not 
his wife, but his mistress. 

Lasache. He deceived you, you are his wife. 

Marie. When you told me that I went to his cham- 
ber, and on my knees I prayed for mercy and forgive- 
ness, but his pale and trembling lips only uttered words 
of scorn. 

Lasache. You must not talk of these things now, 
you are not well. 

Marie. And when the fever was at its height, I 
from my sick couch could hear him denounce me in his 
delirium. You have found your child, Fanchette her 
brother, but I have lost my husband. 

Lasache. Fanchette has found her brother! how do 
you know this? Yon were not to hear it until you 
were better. 

Marie. I only know the Marquis D'Orville's son was 
found, and he is my husband. 

Lasache. Who told you, my child? 

Marie. I heard it whispered at my bedside ere we 
separated forever. 



SCARRED. 59 

Lasaehe. Not forever, he will forgive that rash act. 

Marie. You do not know him ; he never forgives. 

Lasaehe. He will forgive my child. 

Marie. But he may not recover. Oh, to die by my 
hand ! 

Lasaehe. He is gaining strength rapidly. 

Marie. Who has told you this, is it true? He will 
not die? 

Lasaehe. Not by your hand. 

Marie. And you are sure he. is beyond danger? 

Lasaehe. Yes, my child. 

Marie. Thank Heaven ! Though I may never see him 
again his life is spared. 

Lasaehe. You are his wife, w T hy should you not see 
him ; he will forgive you. 

Marie. Oh, you don't know all ! 

Lasaehe. What else? You love him and have been 
faithful to him? 

Marie. Yes; but even my fidelity he doubts. 

Lasaehe. That cannot be. 

Marie. Yes ; when I became his wife I told him 
that my heart belonged to another, yet I have been to 
him all that a wife could be, even this poor heart that 
once yearned for another's love, at length I gave to 
him all, all but one little spot in which the memory of 
one I loved long, long ago, became entombed. 

Lasaehe. I see, I see. 

Marie. Oh, father, he was not always kind to me, 
not always kind. (She weeps) At length I became un- 
happy, ay, desperate, the entombed affection of my 
early days would rise like the dead to haunt my break- 
ing heart. In a moment of temptation I sought to 
learn the whereabouts of him I vowed when but a girl 
to love forever. I secretly corresponded with a gen- 



60 SCARRED. 

tlemau in Paris, who promised to aid me in my search, 
this was my crime. 

Lasache. In this you have not sinned. 

Marie. No ; but he can never understand those 
letters. 

Lasache. And those letters were the cause of your 
quarrel? 

Marie. Yes. 

Lasache. But he had not seen them. 

Marie. He saw them all, and in bitter tones told 
me I was false to him. 

Lasache. The box was locked when I picked it from 
the floor. 

Marie. He saw them before, for when I asked him 
how he knew of him who went to the galleys, he tried 
to deceive me by saying he was his friend, that he had 
seen him in the galleys ; but no, all this he read from 
my letters. 

Lasache. Tell me, my daughter, who was this 
youth? 

Marie. Father, pity me. Even now my heart 
breaks when I think of him and his sad fate. 

Lasache. No, no, you need not speak of him if it 
gives you any pain. 

Marie. Yes, you shall know all. He was a gentle, 
brave youth, I loved him, oh, heaven knows that; the 
last time I saw him I noticed a scar just above his 
temple, I had never seen it before; at first I was 
frightened ; I asked him how it came there, he did not 
answer me, but the next day he sent me a letter, in 
which he told me of a crime he once committed, to 
explain the cause of that dreadful scar. This letter 
with others was taken from me by La Brae. This led 
to his arrest and he was condemned to the galleys for 
ten years. 



SCARRED. 6 I 

Lasache. Was it him you loved? 

Marie. Yes. 

.Lasache. I knew him then, and I know him now. 

Marie Know him? is he alive, where is he? What 
became of him? no, no, I kuow by your look that he 
is dead. 

Lasache. He is alive and well. 

Marie. He lives, he lives, my Maurice ! — but what, 
what is he to me? 

Lasache. Yes, he lives ; and your father loves him 
and his darling wife. 

Marie (screams). His wife! Oh, God! this poor 
heart! No, no, he's dead — his wife (she weeps). 

Lasache. I see, I see you don't understand all. 

Marie. Yes, I understand all. 'Twas I who first 
broke that solemn vow. Speak of him no more, this 
bleeding heart belongs to another — my husband ; but, 
oh God, even his love is denied me ! 

Lasache. Cheer up, my child, you are in the dark ; 
ere yonder star shall cross the spire of St. James, you 
shall know all. 

[Lasache prepares to go.'] 

Marie. Where are you going? 

Lasache. To your husband. 

Marie. 'Twill avail nothing. 

Lasache. Trust to me. 

Marie. No, uo, it will do no good to plead with him 
for his unhappy wife, his stern look and bitter sarcasm 
will confound you. You must not go, these gray locks 
shall suffer no indignity for me. 

Lasache. Ha, ha, he will not offend me. 

Marie. Then if you must go plead for ine, tell him I 
can explain those letters. 

Lasache. See ; see the star, there is no time to be 



62 SCARRED. 

lost. Ere that star shall pass yonder spire your heart 
and his shall be united with bauds of love so firm that 
death alone shall sever them. 

Marie. I cannot hope for that, but when will you 
return? 

Lasache. Soon, very soon. 

Marie. Is it not far? 

Lasache. Chateau d'Amont is in sight. 

Marie. In sight ! Where, where is it? In which 
direction? 

Lasache. See yonder light? 

Marie. Where? 

Lasache. On the hill, from that sombre pile that 
rears against the heavens. 

Marie. Yes, I see 'tis Chateau d'Amont, and my 
husband is there. 

Lasache. Yes, that's Chateau d'Amont, once the 
home of the monster La Brae, but now while he's an 
outcast and justice pursues him, his victim, the Mar- 
quis d'Orville dwells there ; and, Marie, he's your hus- 
baud. 

Marie;. See, see that shadow flitting across the 
lighted square, it may be the shadow of him. 

Lasache. Good bye, you soon shall know all. {Exit.) 

Marie. Alone ! with weeping eyes I stand to catch 
a glimpse of the distant shadow of one whose forgive- 
ness alone can make me happy. I shall go mad. What, 
these strange sights, huge telescopes raid black charts 
with figures of men and serpents. I remember a scene 
like this before. No, it must have been some dreadful 
dream; then they called me mad. Can it be? Oh, 
what will become of me (she screams) father, father, 
don't leave me, don't leave me ! 
[Enters Lasache.] 



SCARRED. 63 

Lasache. My child, — 

Marie. Oh, tell me is this a dream, or am I mad? 

Lasache. Mad? Why no, Marie, you are not mad. 

Marie. I am afraid my mind is going, [ dare not 
remain alone. Oh, if I should lose my mind ! my 
blood freezes at the thought; father, if I lose my mind 
and you have ever loved me, you will not let me live, 
promise you will kill me. 

Lasache. If you talk like this you will break my 
heart. 

Marie. Oh, I am not mad, I am not mad ! am I? tell 
me, father, it is not so. 

Lasache. No, you are not mad. Calm yourself, you 
are excited. Marie, this is the saddest blow of all. 

[Lasache weeps. ] 

Marie. Forgive me ; don't weep, father. I am calm 
now, see, I am laughing. I will wait here all alone 
until you return, I shall not be afraid. 

Lasache. You shall not remain alone, I was mad to 
think of it; my good friend, Montrichard, will remain 
with you until I return. See the star, Marie, I have 
no time to lose. 

Marie. Yes, go ; I will not detain you. 

Lasache. But you must be calm. Promise me this, 
talk not to him of your troubles. 

Marie. I promise, father, I'll laugh and talk with 
him of the stars. 

Lasache. You will keep your promise? 

Marie. Yes. [Exit Lasache'] 

[Enters Montrichard.] 

Mont. Has Mademoiselle been studying the 
heavens? 

Marie. No, Monsieur, not studying the heavens, only 
gazing at the stars. 



64 SCARRED. 

Mont. They shine brightly. 

Marie. Yes, Monsieur, and how brilliant Paris 
looks by night, myriads of lights all burning like 
camptires. I recognize many buildings ; oh, how high 
we are. There's Chateau d'Amont, is it not? 

Mont. The chateau on the hill? 

Marie. Yes, Monsieur. 

Mont. Where the lights shine? 

Marie. Yes; but the light has disappeared now. 
(Montrichard hitches rope on telescope.) Are you to 
make an observation, Monsieur? 

Mont. No, Mademoiselle. 

Marie (aside). I must forget him. What are these 
wires for? 

Mont. Ha, ha! you don't understand, neither did I 
when I first saw this wonderful contrivance. I will 
explain all, Mademoiselle. 

Marie. Thank you. 

Mont. You see that track? 

Marie. Yes, Monsieur, 

Mont. It runs beyond the window of the tower on 
this platform. 

Marie. Oh, Monsieur! your observations are not 
made on that, it's very frail. 

Mont. No, the frame of the telescope rests upon 
that. 

Marie (looks out window, starts back). Oh, how high 
we are, the lights below shine like sparks upon the 
pavement. 

Mont. Does Mademoiselle see those strong beams 
projecting from the stones above? 

Marie. Yes, Monsieur, and those wires run through 
iron hooks at each end. 

Mont. Now, Mademoiselle, put your foot gentiy on 
this little knob (Marie obeys, the instrument moves) . 



SCARRED. 65 



Marie. I see it is pulled by those wires. 

Mont. Ha, ha! but what pulled the wires? 

Marie. How strange, Monsieur. 

Mont. Hugh irons that wind up like the weights of 
a clock descend when this is touched and pull the 
wires. 

Marie. Oh yes, I understand now. See, the lights 
shine again. Direct the telescope towards Chateau 
d'Araont. 

Mont. With pleasure, Mademoiselle, I think you can 
see. 
[Marie looks through telescope']. 

Marie. No, Monsieur, I cannot see. 

Mont. The light has disappeared. 

Marie. Yes, it has disappeared. 

Mont. Let me direct the glass to the stars, Madem- 
oiselle may find some pleasure in viewing the heavens. 

Marie. No, Monsieur, no pleasure for me. 

Mont. Now, Mademoiselle, you'll see the instrument 
return. (Presses knob on the vjall, and the telescope 
rolls back. Marie tries to open box that Montrichard 
has placed in middle of the stage.) 

Mont, (excited). No, no, don't touch that, no, no, 
don't touch those handles. Ha, ha, Mademoiselle, you 
don't know what you have escaped. 

Marie. Oh, Monsieur, you frighten me, what is it? 

Mont. Ah, Mademoiselle, that is a secret to all but 
Monsieur Lasache (he hitches the end of each wire in 
hooks that project from tJiebox), but the world will know 
some day. 'Tis some wonderful discovery. Oh, Mad- 
emoiselle, you have escaped a dreadful catastrophe, it 
was lucky you did not touch those handles. I took 
hold of them one day, and the instant I pulled I was 
thrown on my side by a violent shock I tried to let 



66 SCARRED. 

go of the handles but I could not, I screamed for help, 
soon Monsieur Lasache came to my aid, and shut off 
the current; ha, ha, that is what he called releasiug 
me from this infernal machine. Ah, 'tis some wonder- 
ful discovery. (He starts to go.) 

Marie. Are you going below, Monsieur? 

Mont. Yes, Mademoiselle, as I came up I saw a 
stranger entering the yard, he maj r be below waiting 
for Monsieur Lasache. (Exit.) 

Marie (looking out of window) . It shines again, but 
not for me, not for me. Had I but the wings of a 
tender fledgling I would plunge through the darkness, 
ay, venture all, but to fall at his feet and implore his 
forgiveness. Oh, I am growing desperate, mad! Vic- 
tor, Victor, my poor heart is wrecked. (She looks out 
the window again) Shining still! no, no, be merciful, 
Victor, extinguish that light, it mocks the agony of 
my soul (she covers her face with her hands'). I dare not 
look again. Oh, Victor, that gleaming flame pierces 
through the darkness of my heart and shows me its 
desolation (she weeps). Oh, God, in thy mercy take me 
from this world. Yes, yes, I would die, I would die 
(she looks from the window, below) Yes (she looks again, 
starts back) . Beyond the casement through the darkness 
phantom figures are beckoning to — (she screams, turns 
round) who told me to jump — I am — that voice again ! 
(she listens and repeats) "Marie jump, jump, 'tis but 
a passage to a better world; have courage, courage; 
yes, I have courage; 'twill be no sin, no, no, I deserve 
it, I would have killed him ; I will (enters Victor unob- 
served, stands behind Marie). Victor, farewell, ere the 
shades of night shall leave thy couch my spirit shall 
be there. Fear not, I shall love thee even beyond the 
grave (she weeps). But there's another, my poor 



SCARRED. 6*] 

Maurice, my last breath shall bear thy name. Now, 
Victor Vecloc, the heart that would have destroyed you 
now destroys itself; the tempests of life have driven 
this poor wretched heart upon the breakers of death, 
soon it will be dashed to pieces, and sink forever be- 
neath the waves. The light has gone, 'tis well, I, 
would go down iu darkness amid the storm, with all 
nature as black as death. Farewell Victor, farewell 
Maurice, I have loved you in life, I will love you even 
in death, (she starts to jump, is held, by Vedoc). 

Victor. Marie. 

Marie. Victor, my husband! and do you come again 
to chide me? 

Victor. Not to chide, Marie, to forgive. 

Marie. To forgive? (she falls on her knees). 

Victor. Arise Marie ; I am not strong now, yet I 
had strength enough to read your letters, the contents 
of that little box has nearly broken my heart (she 
weeps) . 

Marie. Oh Victor, my husband, forgive me! I can 
explain those letters. 

Victor. All is explained, Marie, you love another. 

Marie. But I have been true to you. 

Victor. Yes, Marie, and true to him. 

Marie. Forgive me, my darling, forgive me. 

Victor. Was it he whom you called Maurice? 

Marie. Yes. 

Victor. But whom they called Scarred in the galleys? 

Marie. Yes, but he was — 

Victor. Condemned for robbery. 

Marie. The money he stole was to buy food for a 
starving child. 

Victor. You did not condemn him for that? 

Marie. No, no, but he was condemned on my ac- 
count, it was for me, your wife, he stole the money. 



68 SCARRED. 

Victor. And you have always loved this galley 
slave? 

Marie. It was between you and him I shared this 
poor heart. 

Victor. Marie, can you not choose between us? 

Marie. He belongs to another. 

Victor. But he loves you, Marie. 

Marie. No, no, don't say those words again. Oh, 
Victor, I wish you had not said that, it was cruel, but 
you did not mean to be unkind. 

Victor. You love him, I have it from your own lips, 
why then should he not love you? 

Marie. You are killing me ; I know how this must 
end. 

Victor. You have loved him for fifteen years in 
silence with the devotion of a true and noble woman. 
Oh, Marie, I have at last heard you say that you have 
loved Scarred, the galley slave. I would rather die 
than to hear you retract those words ; when they fell 
upon my ears the cloud of misery that for ten years 
had lowered upon my heart at once became dispelled. 

Marie. Oh, Victor, this means that I must live 
apart from you forever. 

Victor. It means that hereafter your heart and 
mine shall be one. 
Marie. What Victor! Do I understand you? 

Victor. No, you have never understood me, you 
have never known me. I thought I knew you, but no, 
not until I read the contents of that little box ; then I 
learned it was not you who sent me to the galleys. 
Marie. You ? 

Victor. Yes me ; look (he shows the scar on his tem- 
ple) I am Scarred — your Maurice — for ten years a gal- 
ley slave. 



SCARRED. 69 

Marie (falls in his arms'), Oh Victor, Victor. 
Victor. Call me Maurice forever more, not Victor. 
[Enters Lasache] . 

Lasache. Look, look! the star is now passing the 
the cross of St. James. 

[Marie tries to walk to window, falls into chair~\. 
Victor. My darling, you are faint. 

Marie. No, but after all these things I would rest. 
Victor. You shall have rest. 

Marie. Yes, and happiness too ; shall I not, Mau- 
rice? 

Victor. Yes, Marie. 

Marie. I am stronger now, oh Maurice, my poor 
Maurice (throws arms about his neck) 

Lasache (looking out window). What is that? See, 
see, the Chateau d'Amont is on fire. 

Victor. On fire! (They look from window). 'Tis 
well, 'tis well, may those flames devour every timber, 
may they burn and burn until Chateau d'Amont is 
wiped from the face of the earth. It was once your 
prison, it shall never be your home. 

Lasache. Go my children, there may be danger in 
delay. 

Marie. Yes, yes, Fanchette, your sister ! Father, 
adieu. 

Lasache. Adieu. God bless you, my children, God 
bless you. 
[Exeunt Victor and Marie.'] 

Lasache (looking from window at Chateau d'Amont). 
Yes, 'tis his work, he is here, yes (he prepares to go) I 
must follow them for he is here, and there may be 
danger. 
[Enters Baron de La Brae]. 

Baron. Yes he is here, and there is danger. 



JO SCARRED. 

Lasache. La Brae, you are here, but you have been 
there. 

Baron. Yes ; I left. 

Lasache. Your torches — 

Baron. But uot my sword. 

Lasache. I will not quarrel with you. 

Baron. But I will quarrel with you, for you have 
betrayed me. 

Lasache. La Brae, beware ! the police and vigilaut 
do you not fear? 

Baron. I fear no one. not even the heir of the Mar- 
quis D'Orville. 

Lasache. You have much to fear from him. 

Baron. Not now, not now, the} r could not find his 
remains hi the ruins of Chateau d'Orville, but they'll 
have better luck when they search the ruins of Cha- 
teau d'Amont. 

Lasache (aside). If he knew the truth Victor might 
be in danger. {Aloud) La Brae, when does your hell- 
ish work end? 

Baron. When you or I am iu the grave. 

Lasache. What do you mean? 

Baron. First give me the letter I wrote you when 
you personated in court the man from whom the heir 
of the Marquis D'Orville stole fifteen francs ; do you 
understand? When you perjured your soul and sent 
your son-in-law to the galleys for ten years. 

Lasache. I understand. 

Baron. Then obey. 

Lasache I will not. 

Baron. You shall, or — 

Lasache. Or what, La Brae? 

Baron. I will kill you. 

Lasache. I am alone, you are a wicked man, you 
may take my life, but you can never have that letter. 



SCARRED. 71 

Baron. Do you prize the document that comprom- 
ises my honor and yours more highly than you do 
your life? 

Lasache. You want one thing too many. 

Baron. I want that letter. 

Lasache. And my life. 

Baron. You're right, I want both, and both I will 
have. Lasache, I give yon a chance for your life. 

Lasache. I'll take the chance myself, it comes not 
from you. {Lasache takes dozen sword). 

Baron. Be it so. 
{They fight. Lasache receives wound in the arm]. 

Baron. Again I ask, will you give up that letter? I 
care not for your blood, I was jesting. 

Lasache. Never, though I were to fall with a thou- 
sand cnts. 
[They fight again. Lasache falls mortally wounded']. 

Baron. I've destroyed the living witness, and now 
I'll destroy — 
[He catches the handles on the end of the electric wire 

that passes through the box containing the electric pile . 

He pulls, the transmission of the electric fluid throws 

him on his side ; vjhen he falls he strikes the knob on 

the floor, instantly the box is pulled tovmrds the window 

of the toioer. He struggles to free himself but cannot, 

and is dragged towards the window.] 
My God, Lasache release me ! 

Lasache. You have destroyed the living witness, 
and I fear you have destroyed yourself. 

Baron. Release me, Lasache, in the name of 
Heaven ! 

Lasache. I will, I will. La Brae, I would die a 
Christian man, forgiving the man who kills me {He 
tries to stand but fails ; then tries to reach the knob on 



72 SCARRED. 

the floor but his strength fails him). I cannot reach 
the knob. I am going — I am dying. Oh, La Brae, 
the tower window ! 

Baron (utters a cry of horror) . The window! help, 
help, the window ! release me, Lasache, release me ! 
[He throvjs Jiis legs around every object near him in or- 
der to break his hold, but he is steadily pulled towards 
the window). Help, help, or I shall be dashed below! 
(He bites the wires with his teeth) save me, save me ! 
(He is pulled beyond the tower window up to the beams 
that project from above. Lasache makes a desperate 
effort to reach the knob but fails again. La Brae's hold 
is broken, he utters a horrible cry and falls below.) 

Lasache. Oh God, he is hurled below. What! 'tis 
growing dark — I cannot see — yet I am stronger (he 
stands) Father in Heaven, forgive me. I have repent- 
ed — I can't see, I am — 'tis death ! (dies) . 

Curtain. 



